Chapter 9
ThetremblinginLily’slegs was not—well, notentirely—the result of the two shuddering orgasms her husband had given her. As she descended the stairs into Boars Hill’s cavernous foyer, she wanted to kick herself and scream, tear the carefully hung ribbons and garlands from the banisters and rip them to shreds.
What had she been thinking? She should have predicted Philip—Whit, blast it—would find the one place where she’d never resisted him, where he knew she’d been denied for so long.
She found a gap in the evergreen garland strung on the banister and wrapped her hand around the wood, steadying herself at a curve in the staircase. Her fingers already ached from digging into the bedsheets, into his hair—
Stop this!She winced at her internal admonishment and blinked, clarifying in her vision the reunion taking place in the foyer below. Her sisters and their husbands circled the newly arrived couple, Timothy’s white-blond hair like a beacon within Violet and Rose’s embrace. Callum had one arm around his cousin James, theirheads bowed together in what looked like a serious conversation, although all conversations with Callum were serious. Her mother was at her best, dispatching servants to deliver the travelers’ belongings and dispense refreshments. Her father, per the norm, hung back and supervised the chaos at a distance.
Heat climbed Lily’s chest, and suddenly her riding jacket was too warm, too tight. Though closer in friendship to her younger sisters, Timothy had been like a brother to her and their family’s savior. But he’d also known where Philip had been hiding, had pushed her husband to return to her without a word of warning. The betrayal sliced through her carefully forged armor, although at this point her defenses were already in tatters.
She pulled in a shuddering breath and plucked at the button at her throat, but the motion must have attracted her mother’s attention because she whipped her pointed gaze to her eldest daughter.
“Lily, there you are!” The words had the impact of a crystal glass thrown into a fireplace, and everyone stilled, their eyes traveling as one to her. Her mother flattened her lips. “Good heavens, what are you wearing?”
Lily pinched the bridge of her nose as the heat in her chest climbed to her hairline. “Riding breeches, Mama.” She longed to dash for the stables to avoid running the interrogative gauntlet of her mother and sisters, and she likely would have done just that, had footsteps not approached her from behind.
A warm hand on the small of her back steadied her, Philip’s voice rumbling through her like thunder in the distance. “I like what she’s wearing. She can’t wear dresses to run a stable.”
For an instant, her frustration settled, the maelstrom inside her calming enough for her to see light on the horizon, to be secured and anchored by his presence. Having someone to defend her. Knowing she wasn’t alone.
I don’t want to be alone.
With a sharp exhale, she stepped away from his touch to descend the stairs. His touch only soothed her now because he’d withheld it for eight years.
She would not accept scraps after being denied a full meal.
He trailed behind her, her shadow as she forced on a pleasant mien to approach their guests.
Timothy’s brows were drawn when she approached, chin high. “Happy Christmas, Timothy,” she ground out as he gave air kisses on both her cheeks.
He glanced over her shoulder to where, no doubt, Philip loomed. “To you as well.” His throat bobbed on a swallow. “I was hoping we might have the chance to explain—”
Rose swooped in like a bird of prey, snagging Lily’s arm and dragging her out of the fray and towards the staircase. “You and Philip can take some time to catch up,” she said airily. “We need to have a sisterly chat.”
“We do?” Lily asked when they’d reached the second-floor landing and were safely out of earshot.
“We do. I worried you’d strangle Timothy or Philip if left to your own devices.” She paused at a footman to retrieve a steaming cup and saucer, thanking him profusely. “I promised Fern I’d bring her this.”
Lily winced. She hadn’t even noticed her youngest sister’s absence, something Fern likely preferred. “Is she in the nursery?”
Rose nodded as she climbed the stairs, deftly balancing the cup despite her steady pace. “She’s feeding Emily.”
When they arrived at the third-floor nursery, they found Fern resting in a rocking chair, her daughter at her breast. Fern spotted the cup in her twin’s hand, and her hazel eyes brightened. “Drinking chocolate?”
Rose grinned as she set the cup and saucer on a small table beside the chair. “I thought you might need it.”
Lily’s throat thickened, remembering the drinking chocolate she’d left downstairs in her room, what it represented. Care. Attention.
Love.
You don’t hate me as much as you say.
She pulled a weathered wooden chair from the school desk over to Fern’s side and took a moment to admire her niece while Rose sat on the nanny’s bed and curled her feet under her skirt. The infant’s chubby hand tugged on the end of Fern’s plait, a swirl of wispy auburn hair bright against Fern’s white shirtwaist. Dark brown lashes fluttered against her full cheeks. “She’s beautiful,” Lily whispered.
“But she screams like a demon.” Rose snorted. “You didn’t have to cross the Atlantic with her.”
“She cut three teeth on that voyage. Three!” Fern rolled her eyes, then leveled them at her twin. “Just wait until it’s your turn.”
